Long Live The King
by Chris
Summary: Scully can't believe her latest murder case. Mulde


**"Long Live The King" (1/4)**   
Author: Chris Adams   
Feedback: chris_adams031@yahoo.com   
Archive: Yes please!   
Rating: G   
Category: XH   
Summary: Scully can't believe Mulder's latest case…   


"Mulder, tell me you're not serious."   
"Deadly."   
"You really are, aren't you?" 

He didn't need to answer. 

"But… why?"   
"Isn't it obvious yet?"   
"What? Isn't what obvious?"   
"Look at him." 

Scully, twisted her head round into several never-attempted-before positions, before slumping back into her chair, surrendering. 

"I give up."   
He flicked the red switch on the machine, and the next slide flicked into place, displayed on the slightly yellowed screen on the far wall. 

"Can't you tell yet? Who that is?"   
"No." 

She flung her head back, sighing. Slowly she stared back up at the screen. She shook her head. 

"Mulder… come on. You're not actually going to suggest to me that…"   
"That… what?"   
"Mulder! Quit it!"   
"Quit what?" he teased. She stared at him, getting angrier.   
"I'm not amused."   
"By what?!" he replied. 

She waved her hand at the screen. 

"Is this designed to be a joke?" he shook his head, smugly.   
"Scully. Look at the picture!" He leaned forward, gently but firmly moving her head into the direction of the slide projection.   
"I can see it!" she screeched, pulling herself from her partner. Surely he couldn't be serious.   
He flicked the switch and another image appeared. This time she laughed.   
"What?!" Mulder asked, smiling.   
"No way, Mulder. No!" she said, in a more serious tone.   
"C'mon Scully! Admit it, you see it don't you? Can we go check it out? Just this one? For me?" he put on his best sad face.   
"Mulder! I spent years training to be a doctor, then an agent of the FBI. I expected to enter this building six years ago and cut up dead people. Most people consider that to be a weird job. But no. Clever old Dana has to go one better and go chasing spaceships, six foot sewer worms, liver eating mutants…."   
"You don't enjoy your job?" Mulder butted in, in a hurt tone.   
"Yes… but…. Mulder!" 

Like a proud magician he produced two card envelopes from his back pocket. Airline tickets.   
Scully snatched the envelopes, stifling a grin. Mulder smiled, successfully.   
Scully opened the envelopes. The grin vanished.   
"Wha…??!! Skinner let you have these?! No Mulder. No, I refuse to go to Tennessee."   
"Fine. I'll go by myself. He threw Scully a key. "Feed my fish." He strolled towards the door. 

Don't do it! Don't even think about following him!   
Scully turned and stared at the picture displayed on the screen in front of her. She sighed loudly. 

There, caught on a shop surveillance tape, purchasing a packet of cigarettes, was Elvis. 

Scully sighed, turned, and followed Mulder out of the office door. Again. 

--- 

She tapped her fingers on the plastic armrest of the plane, bored. 

"Ma'am would you like any refreshments?" asked a stewardess whose smile seemed stapled into a static position.   
"No. Thank you. Mulder?"   
Mulder looked up from a large Elvis reference book.   
"No thanks."   
"Oh, are you an Elvis fan? I'm quite a fan of The King myself actually!" replied the smiley stewardess. 

Here we go again…. 

Mulder and the stewardess, identified only as "Hi! My name is Doreen! Flight Attendant!" by her yellow name tag, launched into discussion about Elvis Presley, the main cause of Scully's depression right now.   
"And is this your lovely wife?" asked the stewardess, who's job description, Scully expected, actually said she must annoy people by asking them continuos, irrelevant & personal questions. 

"No. We're FBI partners. Investigating random shootings of women with blond hair and over-bubbly personalities." She definitely wasn't in the mood for pleasantries.   
Miraculously, Doreen's smile straightened and she moved on to the next row of unsuspecting victims. 

"Scully!" Mulder exclaimed.   
"What?!" she replied, slumping into the seat and squirming, trying to make herself comfortable for the eighteenth time since she had boarded the flight.   
"That wasn't necessary."   
"Mulder, face it. She should be shot!"   
"Wow, what's up with you today?"   
"Possibly the fact that I'm on my way to investigate a sighting of a rock star that's been dead for 22 years!!"   
Mulder didn't take the hint.   
"Did you know Elvis was once a truck driver?"   
"No."   
"Did you know that Elvis is sighted approximately three times a day, all across America?"   
"How is that possible?"   
"Um…." He pondered. Scully 1, Mulder 0.   
"It's not, Mulder."   
"Clones?"   
She was at a loss for words. Mulder 1, Scully 1.   
Scully turned and stared hard at Mulder. He stared back.   
"Just a joke!" he replied.   
"Mulder, seriously. You're flying me out to Memphis to investigate an Elvis sighting. Even you wouldn't go that far. Are you going to tell me why?"   
"This is no ordinary Elvis sighting."   
"Why not?"   
"Look at these pictures." Mulder held up the surveillance tape image and a page from his book. She had to admit, although she'd never tell Mulder, that the two did look alike. Very much alike.   
"You think this is the real Elvis don't you?" she sighed. "Mulder, everyday, I expect hundreds, maybe thousands of Elvis fans flock to Memphis like bees round a…   
"Round a..?"   
"Round a… bee hive. Whatever. A good percentage of those people will make themselves look like Elvis. Wigs, make up, clothing. Some fanatics of musicians, television stars, any popular public figure, become so obsessed they actually convince themselves they are the person they worship. It's a psychological thing, Mulder, you should know about that."   
"You saying I'm crazy?" he joked back.   
"No, I mean, your time with Violent Crimes, getting inside the minds of people. It's just most of these people actually are so obsessed, most believe Elvis really is alive. Some actually believe they actually are Elvis. Some are just plain weird. This man, that you are showing me, is one of these fanatics."   
"This man walked into a Memphis shop and bought a pack of cigarettes. Even the cashier was shocked, and he says he sees hundreds of Elvis impersonators each day. But this one, so he says, was most certainly The King."   
Scully gave him her best 'You can't be serious' look.   
"But that's not all Scully. The man then walked round the corner to cash dispenser at the bank. He withdrew $50 dollars and proceeded to a nearby diner and motel - "Heartbreak Motel"."   
"Yeah, ha ha, Mulder. So?"   
"The name he used at the cash point. Elvis Presley."   
Scully shook her head in disbelief. What was she doing here?   
"Mulder! Get a hold of yourself. This man - is NOT ELVIS PRESLEY! He may have changed his name, faked it, Mulder, I don't even care! It is not Elvis!" 

"He then walked into the motel bar and shot three people." 

Scully's smile disappeared. There was an awkward silence between them.   
"They were Elvis impersonators, at the annual Blue Suede Shoes Elvis Festival. The shooter, Elvis, fled from the scene and hasn't been seen since. Except several times across the world, but that's not unusual, actually that's what's making this investigation so difficult."   
"Did the victims die?" Scully asked him.   
"Two did, one is in critical condition."   
"So why were we called? Why is this an X-File? It's obviously just a crazy fan gone a little bit more crazy than usual."   
"This -" Mulder began rummaging in his bag and producing a photocopied photograph of Elvis " - is Elvis's autograph. 1975. Got it off Danny. This -" he continued, fishing another sheet from his bag "- is the signature of our killer. He paid for a gun, a few mornings ago, had to sign for it." 

Scully looked at both signatures in turn. And again. They both said Elvis Presley. They were both virtually exactly the same. 

"Mulder…"   
"These three men were shot by Elvis, Scully." 

TO BE CONTINUED… 

------------------------------------   
"Long Live The King" (2/4)   
Author: Chris Adams   
Feedback: chris_adams031@yahoo.com   
Archive: Yes please!   
Rating: G   
Category: XH   
Summary: Scully, still not believing her latest assignment, sees the evidence she can't refute… 

Everywhere was Elvis.   
The whole town was obsessed with the man.   
It should be renamed 'Elvis', Scully mused, wandering down the wide street in Memphis, surrounded by Elvis fans. Some of them even looked like Elvis. 

She ran over the last day in her head.   
Mulder had asked her to accompany him to investigate an Elvis sighting. As if that wasn't bad enough, she know knew that a man who looked exactly like Elvis, who was called Elvis and had the same signature as Elvis had shot three people, killing two on the spot.   
She was about to ask Mulder if any of the witnesses had noticed a curling lip or a rather supple pelvis when he spoke first. 

"Scully, look!" 

There, directly ahead of them, was Elvis. Or someone who looked remarkably like him 

"Mulder…. Remember what I told you…" she warned. Mulder strolled ahead. 

"Excuse me!" Mulder shouted to the Elvis lookalike. 

"Yes siree! Autograph?" he replied as Mulder strolled up to him.   
"Please. Can I ask your name please?"   
Was the man stupid? Scully wondered.   
"Elvis Presley, sir."   
Well, duh…   
"No kidding?"   
Scully wondered what she was doing here. Oh yes, she reminded herself. Interviewing Elvis.   
"Yes sir." He signed a small card. "And you ma'am?"   
Go to hell. 

"No, thank you."   
Scully turned round. Her cell phone rang.   
"Scully - yes sir. We're, um, in Memphis sir. Yes sir." Short silence. Mulder turned and looked at Scully. He raised his eyebrows. Scully stared hard at him.   
"I was actually under the impression that…. Of course sir. I'll tell him that right away. Yes sir, goodb… sir?" she hung up.   
"Mulder!"   
"Um, yes?" he cringed back.   
"Why didn't you tell me we're not supposed to be here? The local police are dealing with this case. You told me it was an X-File!"   
"Well, it is, kinda."   
"Mulder!!! For god's sake! I'm going home."   
"Scully, wait. C'mon! Aren't you at least curious as to who killed those people?"   
"Being honest? No. Not in the least. I am very sorry that these men died. But Elvis didn't kill them, Mulder. He died. Remember that term? There are deaths happening all over the country. Most likely two more will occur when we return to Washington."   
"Well, stay a while. Think of it as preventing a murder. Your own."   
"Am I actually here Mulder? Am I invisible to you? Is my speech coming out in Japanese? I AM GOING HOME!!"   
"Well, whatever. Anyway that wasn't our guy. Look."   
Scully, who had once more set off in the other direction, turned. She was not an amused Agent.   
Mulder held out the new Elvis's autograph and the signature of the killer. Completely different. 

"Well, why are still here?" Scully asked with her sweetest smile.   
Once again, Scully's phone rang. 

"Scully. Yes, although we expect to be back in DC by tonight. I expect that… is it really necessary? But we're FBI agents, can't you get some of your own onto it? Oh. Yes, similar. I suppose so. Right, we're on our way." Scully sighed and put away the phone.   
"Local police chief wants us there right away. They've got a suspect."   
"Who is the suspect, my dear Scully?"   
Again, a sigh.   
"His name is Elvis. Elvis A. Presley."   
"Hmm. Scully..?"   
"What?"   
"I think we have our guy." 

Mr Presley sat opposite Mulder, Scully and the local police chief, overweight with a distinct scent of donuts with his head in his hands. 

"So," started Mulder "where were you Monday morning, 11.21am?"   
"I don't know. Home?"   
"Is it true your name is Elvis Presley?"   
"Yes, it is sir."   
"Seriously?" Scully added.   
"Yes, ma'am."   
"Were you christened with that name?"   
"No. I changed it three years ago."   
Scully smiled triumphantly at Mulder.   
"What was it before Elvis?" she asked the suspect.   
"Frederick Marcusson."   
"And you changed it because…"   
"I am a big fan of The King, ma'am"   
"Big enough to change your name to his?"   
"I suppose so."   
"You do look a lot like Elvis, Mr Marcusson." Said Mulder.   
"Mr. Presley, now. Yes, I know I do. I've made a lot of money from that."   
"Mr… Presley, do you or have you ever owned a firearm?" Scully continued.   
"What? No. Never."   
"Sir, have you ever met anybody who actually believes to be Elvis. Do you believe Elvis is alive?"   
Deadly silence.   
A younger police officer stuck his head round the door.   
"Agents? May I speak to you for a moment?"   
Mulder & Scully got up and left the room.   
"We got the report back from the Crime Lab. The bullets came from a Smith & Wesson 9mm hand gun. Registered number 001013SH."   
"That doesn't really help though, unless we find the weapon."   
"We have found it. In Mr Presley's home. We also did some tests and found his fingerprints on the weapon."   
"Then that solves it." Scully concluded. "This is our killer, and this is no longer an X-File. We'll send you our report, officer."   
"Actually, Agent Scully, there's a complication."   
"What complication?" Oh God, not another day in this town!   
"The suspect asked us to check something out on the database."   
"What?" asked Mulder.   
"He asked us to compare his prints with the real Elvis's prints."   
"That's ridiculous. I hope you didn't even waste your time and resources undertaking such a task!" Scully cried at the officer.   
"Um, yes Ma'am, we did. It took some research, but we discovered that Elvis's prints were taken during his army training and stored."   
Smiling, Mulder asked, like a little boy enquiring about a new toy "And…?"   
The police officer held up two transparent sheets, with fingerprints printed on both.   
"We had the people in Computer Crimes compare these at the right angles and everything. This, is the real Elvis Presley's set of prints. And this…" he slid the sheets on top of each other, "…is our suspects." 

The prints matched. 

TO BE CONTINUED…. 

------------------------------------   
"Long Live The King" (3/4)   
Author: Chris Adams   
Feedback: chris_adams031@yahoo.com   
Archive: Yes please!   
Rating: PG   
Category: XHA   
Summary: Scully can't believe Mulder's latest case…   
Spoilers: This part of the fic is quite spoiler-heavy, so I thought I'd give a little warning: Duane Barry arc, Memento Mori, Gethsemane arc, Emily arc, How The Ghosts Stole Christmas, my first story "Blinded From Reality"   
Keywords: The case that seemed like a joke suddenly gets a bit more serious…. 

There was no was this could be happening. Elvis Presley was not sitting in front of her, accused of double murder.   
"Mr Presley. It seems there is a… slight complication with your fingerprints." Scully squirmed in her seat.   
"They matched? Thought they might."   
"Can you explain why this might be?"   
"I wish I could."   
"Are you Elvis?" asked Mulder. 

After a short silence, Mulder made his way to the door.   
"Drinks, anyone? Scully? Mr Presley? Fine, I'll be right back."   
Scully continued.   
"Obviously, your prints have somehow got mixed with Elvis's - two people with the same name, in the same case, it happens."   
"It happens." repeated the man.   
"Agent Scully - " the officer called her over to the door where he was standing observing the events. "I don't think we can keep this man here. We're gonna have to release him." 

"What? But his prints were on the gun!"   
"So it seemed. Look, we get people who think they're Elvis all the time. Some even go to the lengths of cosmetic surgery to make themselves look like him. The town's obsessed."   
"Are you implying that the prints on the gun were somehow forged?"   
"I think so. One of the guys searching his house called in. They found one of these." He held up a small plaster block with the word "Elvis" across it. Imprinted in it were ten fingerprints, presumably of the famous rock star. "These are sold all across town, mass produced for the tourists. The King's fingerprints, great souvenir to take home. We think that the killer may have, somehow, transferred the prints off one of these onto the weapon." 

"That's ludicrous!" Yeah, she thought. As ludicrous as the rest of this stupid place.   
"So is the killer, it seems."   
"But, even if that had happened, someone still killed those men, and it wasn't Elvis."   
"Exactly. But we have to free our Mr Presley. We've no grounds to keep him here."   
"But…! We have to keep him! He's our only suspect!!"   
"I'm sorry Ma'am. We get stuff like this all the time."   
"You get Elvis convicted of murder all the time?" she mocked.   
"You'd be surprised." Somehow she doubted him.   
Scully flapped her arms through the air in desperation as two officers led the suspect away. 

Mulder re-entered a few moments later.   
"Hi Scully. Got you a Pepsi. Where's the suspect?"   
"They let him go."   
"What?!! But…" Mulder protested, angrily.   
"Some crap about pulling fingerprints off souvenirs."   
"Something's not right Scully. We have to arrest that man."   
"We can't. Elvis has most definitely left the building."   


Next morning, Scully sat in the passenger seat of their rental car. The sun shone through her window, a pleasant warmth spreading through the car, although she was grateful to the gentle breeze through her window. 

"Mulder, maybe it would be a good idea if we just left town and left this whole case to the local force. Maybe that guy was right."   
"Scully, you saw that man in there. He looked like Elvis, OK, his hair was greying a little, but if I didn't know otherwise, I'd say he actually was Elvis."   
"Along with, of course, the fact that Elvis is dead."   
"Mm." 

Scully thought back. Things had changed a lot over the last six years. She realised that if someone had told her, in 1992, that just a few years later she would be investigating a murder committed by Elvis, she would have laughed in their face. These last few years had definitely not been too normal for Dana.   
She remembered her training at the FBI academy, her first encounter with weirdness - the white, blinding light she had seen as she unlocked her car in the lot, the phonecall she received afterwards.   
Perhaps she should have listened.   
Even after her first assignment with Mulder, she knew she had seen too much. She had refused to believe, but found herself strangely attached to the cases she and Mulder had encountered since. She had been close to death a few times. She didn't blame Mulder, or his work. She had wanted out a few times, other times she felt that The X Files were a part of her. Some of the happiest moments of her life had been in the last six years, some of the saddest too. She didn't know what the future would bring. But she did know that The X Files had become much more than an FBI bi-project. There was something much bigger here, something just ahead of them, around every corner, that they never seemed to catch up with. Always out of their grip. She had wondered what part she would play in the future. The events of the last few months were enough to confirm what Mulder had always pressed her to believe.   
She knew she couldn't ever leave this totally, whatever she did. For her own reasons, mostly, but for literal reasons too. The metal implant in her neck, whatever it's purpose - she knew there must be one, remained. She knew the consequences of its removal. The things it would do to her body, the effect on her family, her friends, Mulder. Her disappearance, four years ago, and whatever had occurred in those three months had changed her life, too, in many ways she was still unable to see. Emily was one of these changes. She blinked away a tear.   
Yet, she never blamed Mulder for anything that had happened to her, although she knew if The X Files never existed, she would be in some quiet field office, sorting through reports, evidence, photographs. She would never have seen anything on the same scope as she had seen with Mulder, on The X Files. But sometimes she would see herself, at a desk, sorting through everyday cases in an everyday office surrounded by everyday people, people who weren't abducted by aliens, attacked by mutants, or shot by Elvis.   
She thought of this as her alternative existence, the way it could have been.   
And she decided. 

She liked it better this way. 

"Scully." Mulder interrupted her stream of thoughts.   
"Ye..what?" she shook her head gently, bringing herself back to reality.   
"You OK?" he asked.   
"Yes, sorry. I was just thinking about something."   
"Oh?"   
"Oh, nothing. This case." She lied.   
"Well here we are." 

The house rose up above them, as if it belonged more in a horror movie than real life. 

"Well, lets check it out." Scully suggested. "Unless you wanna try Graceland first?" she joked. 

They walked up to the house, to what looked like the main door, and knocked.   
"This is spooky." Scully said, as they waited. The air was colder now, the sun behind some clouds. 

"I hope we don't find our own dead bodies this time." Mulder said. Scully smiled a little, thinking back to the last time she had visited a big, spooky house. Now that was spooky. 

The door swung open. Seemingly by itself.   
"Ahhh, memories." Mulder smiled. Scully nudged him. "That's not funny Mulder."   
"Should we go in?"   
"I guess we should."   
They slowly walked in, their guns pointed, ready, just in case.   
Mulder walked right, Scully left.   
The room was in complete darkness, cobwebs covered corners and furniture. 

A bell on a wooden post had a small notice pinned above it. "Please ring for attention." Mulder read aloud.   
"Do we want attention, Scully?"   
"If that's the only choice. Ring the bell." Mulder pressed the bell. The circuits inside it buzzed. Mulder's jaw cracked shut, he shook violently, not removing his finger from the bell.   
"Mulder!" Scully shouted, recognising the signs of a person being electrocuted and running to Mulder.   
She picked up a broom from a corner and pushed Mulder's arm from the bell. He immediately collapsed to the floor, his face black and his eyes and mouth open wide. His hand twitched by his side. Scully touched him with the wooden broom.   
Mulder sparked.   
"Oh hell, Mulder" Scully kneeled down beside him. She placed her gun on a dusty table beside her.   
She felt Mulder's neck for a pulse.   
"Mulder! Can you hear me?" 

"Stand up." A voice came from behind.   
Scully turned her head. Their suspect stood, in casual T-shirt and jeans, pointing a gun directly at her head from a few metres behind her. 

"Get up, or I'll shoot you. Or him." He waved the gun at Mulder who lay groaning on the wooden floor.   
She glanced at her gun. 

"Don't even think about it."   
Scully stood up slowly, her arms outstretched. 

"Now I'm gonna tell you my secret."   
"Wh… what secret?" Scully asked nervously. She glanced at Mulder, then her weapon.   
If she could just… 

"If I tell you, you must promise not to tell anybody, not even him." Elvis looked at Mulder. 

Scully quickly reached to the table, her training finally coming in useful. She wouldn't risk Mulder's life for this madman. 

She heard a loud gunshot, then felt a searing pain in her shoulder.   
Blood stained her white blouse, and she fell next to Mulder, her mouth trying to scream but unable to make a sound. 

Elvis had shot Scully. 

TO BE CONTINUED… 

------------------------------------   
"Long Live The King" (4/4)   
Author: Chris Adams   
Feedback: chris_adams031@yahoo.com   
Archive: Yes please!   
Rating: PG   
Category: XH   
Summary: Everybody has an alternative existence. Even Elvis…. 

Sounds and colours seemed to blur. 

Scully lay on the hard floor, in a pool of her own blood. She could feel the immense pain from her shoulder, down her chest. She struggled for breath.   
Her shooter walked away, his footsteps echoing loudly. 

With all her strength she reached over Mulder, placing her fingers round the trigger of her gun.   
Straining herself, she lifted her gun into the air. 

It all ended right here, right now.   
BLAM! BLAM-BLAM!   
The man fell into a crumpled heap on the other side of the room. 

All her remaining strength used up, Scully's arm flopped to the floor, her gun, clanging down next to her. 

All was silent. Scully coughed lightly. 

"Long live the King." She mumbled. 

This was it, she realised. Her vision blurred. 

It's time, was her last thought, before everything went black.   


i>Scully sites at a desk. To her right, a tall stack of file folders next to a card labelled "In". To her left, a much smaller pile, labelled "Out". 

Meticulously, she lifts another file from her right. Checks it, signs it, stamps it with the date. 

Check, sign, stamp.   
Check, sign, stamp.   
Six years of checking, signing, stamping. 

She glances across at the photograph opposite her. Taken last month at Melissa's wedding - her mother, sister, brothers and herself. She only wished she could see them all more often. 

A man appears at the door. Tall, brown hair, and FBI badge pinned to his jacket.   
"Can I help?" Scully asks.   
Check, sign, stamp.   
"Scully? It's me, Mulder."   
"Pardon?"   
Check, sign, stamp.   
"Scully. Look at me. Scully!"   
"I'm sorry. I don't know you. I have to keep going…"   
Check, sign, stamp.   
"Scully! Wake up! It's me, Mulder!"   
Check, sign, stamp. 

Then Scully sees herself, at the desk in the shaded room, blocked from the world.   
And recognises herself. 

Her alternative existence./i> 

Black lightens. Colours become clear.   
Clarity. 

"Got to… Mulder…" Scully blinked her eyes, a moment before she felt the pain in her shoulder.   
"Oww!" she cringed.   
"It's OK, Scully. Welcome back!"   
"What happened?"   
"You were shot - can you remember?"   
"Yes - just -in the house…" she cringed again as another convulsion of pain shot through her.   
"Elvis shot me!" she suddenly realised.   
Mulder grinned. "Then you shot him."   
Scully realised what she had done.   
"He died a few hours ago." Mulder confirmed, as if reading her mind.   
"Oh god…"   
"It's OK. He shot you first Scully, you nearly died. And he electrocuted me."   
Mulder wiggled his fingers, each wrapped in it's own bandage, as proof.   
They both smiled. 

"Who was he Mulder?" she asked. "Was he… you know?" she couldn't say it.   
"Elvis? No. Three years ago, a Mr Reginald Steinman escaped from the Sunny Vale Mental Hospital. After changing his name and some extensive cosmetic surgery, he became Elvis Presley. Pretty good likeness, too, I'd say."   
"Did he shoot those men?"   
"No, afraid not. The chief called me earlier. They re-checked his prints. Computer error, s you said. Although it seems he convinced himself he actually was Elvis. Like you also said. A crazed fanatic."   
"But the surveillance pictures, they were him! Weren't they?"   
"At the time of the shooting, and the purchase of the gun, Mr Presley, or Mr Steinman, whatever, was opening a 24-hour convenience store 120 miles away.   
It seems there are a hell of a lot of Elvis's in this town, Scully."   
"So did they find the killer?"   
"Not yet. Personally I don't think they will. Again - too many Elvis's. It looks like this is one craze that's never going to end. I suppose in the hearts of everyone here, the King will always be alive."   
Both agents thought about this for a few seconds, before Mulder spoke again. 

"We'll soon have you out of here Scully, back to the office in no time!"   
"Mulder," Scully hesitated. "I'm sorry."   
"What for?!" Mulder seemed taken aback.   
"For, well, mocking you, for not wanting to come here with you."   
"I'm sorry too. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be in this mess. Or any of the other million messes I've gotten you into in the last few years!"   
They both smiled.   
"I'm glad I've been here with you, to get in all those messes." Scully said.   
"And I'm glad you were here too. Well, not in any of the messes…"   
They both laughed awkwardly. Mulder reached forward, hugging Scully before walking to the door. 

"Oh yeah. Skinner wants us in his office when we get back." Mulder grinned, dodging round the doorframe before Scully threw a pillow in his direction. 

---- 

The man pulled on his red T-shirt, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His jet-black hair nearly all grey, his face aged and his sight deteriorated enough for him to wear glasses. 

He hadn't meant to hurt anybody, he thought.   
He wrapped the gun in a cloth and placed it in a drawer.   
Just scare them.   
Why couldn't they just leave it now, for god's sake, just forget him?   
It had been over twenty years. He had thought maybe after a year or two, he'd be history, but it didn't quite work that way. Now he found himself in his own trap. His death was supposed to be the end. He just wanted peace, a normal life. Any longer and he may just have died anyhow.   
He didn't want to look out over the town each day and his hundreds of clones of himself staring back. Thousands of carbon copies of himself who looked back and saw yet another Elvis. 

He realised that when he did die, his death would not be noted. No, that had happened years ago. His death would go by without the blink of an eye from any of the millions who worshipped him. 

They wouldn't even know. 

And even then, he would live on, long after his death. 

He would live forever. So what was he waiting for? 

He pulled out the drawer, picking up the bundle. The black cloth slipped to the floor and the gun lay cold and smooth, invitingly in his hand.   


The End   
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
